Daisy Chains
by NagiLite
Summary: Ron helps Harry find his inner child--literally.
1. A Somewhat Minor Mistake and the Consequ...

Disclaimer: I own...well, nothing in this fic.  
  
Warnings: Slash of the Draco/Harry variety to come...  
  
Notes: This is...odd? Yeah, definitely odd. Odd and fluffy. I don't know if this plot's been used before, but it suggested itself to me when my sister and I were talking about the Attack of the Chibi Snapes. Another odd idea, that...Oh yeah, and sorry for any OOCness if you should stumble across any...^_^  
  
  
  
~Daisy Chains~  
  
~A Somewhat Minor Mistake and the Consequences~  
  
"Here, drink this."  
  
Ron Weasley shoved a vial of something under Harry Potter's nose. Harry gagged and tried to back as far away from the concoction as possible, and in doing so succeeded in falling off of Ron's bed. When he had composed himself again, he stared distrustfully at the potion (for that was what it clearly was meant to be). It was a sickly blue color, and it had a strange consistency--like mud.  
  
"What is it?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses up with one finger.  
  
"It's a potion," Ron said shortly.  
  
"I know that. But what IS it?"  
  
"It's part of the Potions project Hermione's been badgering me about--it's a Shrinking Potions. You know, we learned of Resizing Potions a while back- -"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Harry said impatiently. He sniffed Ron's potion; to his surprise, it smelled not unlike cotton candy. "What exactly were we s'posed to do, again?"  
  
Ron scratched his head, chewing on the end of his quill in thought. "I wasn't paying attention in class the day it was assigned--but from what I gathered from Hermione...Well, Snape claims there are a load of ways to make Shrinking Potions, and he's told us to try to figure them all out."  
  
"Couldn't you use a textbook for that?" Harry asked.  
  
"The library's closed for the evening. And the project's due tomorrow."  
  
Harry frowned. "I forgot all about it..." Harry Potter, in his Fifth Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was a well-known Seeker on Gryffindor House Quidditch team. He'd been focusing so hard on Quidditch the past few weeks (the Quidditch Season was coming up, after all) he'd been falling rather behind in his studies. Usually he could count on Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley to help him keep up, but apparently Hermione, the only consistent one out of their midst, had forgotten to keep him up to date.  
  
Ron, noticing the worried frown on Harry's face, said, "This is the last potion I'm working on--I've managed to glean the others off Seamus and Neville--Dean outright refused, can you believe it, he's as bad as Hermione- -and if you test this for me, you can have my answers."  
  
It was a very tempting offer. Still, Harry was wary. "Shrinking Potion, you say? You DO have the antidote, right?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Hell, yeah. Wouldn't want you to be tiny forever, now would I? It's a pretty simple formula, really--came up with it myself. Foolproof."  
  
Harry sighed in resignation. He was really regretting all the extra Quidditch practice now. At least the Shrinking Potion didn't SMELL awful. "All right, I'll test it. Do I take the whole vial?"  
  
Ron considered. Then, "Yeah, you'd better." He handed the vial to Harry, who held it uncertainly. Ron grinned. "Drink up."  
  
So Harry recklessly did. He waited for Ron's coverlet to come rushing up at him, but before it did, he felt as if a cloud was covering his mind. Soft, sweet, suddenly everything was simple.  
  
Ron, on the other hand, stared in rather rapt horror. He'd been expecting Harry to shrink to about the size of a chess piece, yet still look unmistakably like, well, like Harry Potter. What he hadn't expected was to see Harry age backward before his very eyes. Suddenly, instead of short, wiry Harry Potter, there was a child sitting in the place where Harry had sat a moment before.  
  
A child with wide green eyes, wild black hair, glasses that hung off of one ear, and a well-known scar.  
  
Harry's robes swamped the child--wait, Ron thought, that IS Harry. Oh. Shit. The redhead reached out in a shocked daze to child-Harry, and nearly fainted when little fingers grabbed his own and a little mouth opened in a giggle.  
  
"Harry?" Ron whispered in disbelief. The kid began shaking Ron's hand up and down idly, then abruptly climbed down off the bed and began toddling around, tripping over his huge robes. Ron was reminded of when his little sister Ginny had been learning how to walk--she'd been about three before she'd started to get the hang of it.  
  
"Um. Geez." So much for "foolproof". His mind was mush, and the only thing he could think was this: ask Hermione.  
  
As soon as that occurred to him, everything seemed okay. Hermione ALWAYS knew what to do! She could fix this. He stuffed the antidote in his pocket--just in case, though he suspected it would have no effect on Harry-- and grabbed the miniature version of Harry Potter around his waist. The robes hung to the floor, and Ron scooped them up, too.  
  
He was at the head of the staircase when he realized he'd have to go through the Common Room to find Hermione. He paused a moment, then decided it really didn't matter if anyone else saw Harry. Soon all would be put right, anyway.  
  
Halfway down the staircase, Harry began pulling on Ron's ears. Ron hefted the wiggling child from one side of his body to the other, finally putting him astride his shoulders. Curiously, this mode of transportation worked. Besides enduring delighted calls of "horsy!", Ron made it down the stairs all right.  
  
About fifteen heads shot up at the appearance of Ron Weasley and a familiar looking child in the Common Room. Dean Thomas gasped in recognition (a gasp which escaped the happily oblivious Seamus Finnigan) and Lavender Brown shrieked. Parvati Patil wanted to hold Harry, but Ron took the boy from his shoulders and swung him out of her reach.  
  
"You know where Hermione is?"  
  
Parvati pouted. "In our room, studying."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes affectionately and said, "As always. Get her, will you?"  
  
Parvati sniffed but went to do as he asked, returning moments later with a miffed Hermione Granger.  
  
She took one look at Harry and went bright red. "My GOD, Ron, what did you DO to him?"  
  
Ron frowned inwardly on the fact that she hadn't even wasted a second to consider his innocence in this affair--right off the bat she assumed he was guilty. He WAS...but still. Whatever happened to benefit of the doubt? He realized the entire Common Room was now staring at the two-well, three of them and he said, "Why don't we take this somewhere else, eh?"  
  
Harry was getting heavy and he could feel his definitely-not-hulking muscles tensing. She nodded briskly and said, "My roommates are still up and about...We'll have to go to yours."  
  
"M-mine?" Ron flushed. "You can't--"  
  
"I can and I will," she stated grimly before practically dragging him and Harry up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.  
  
She locked the door as Ron gratefully set Harry down on his bed, grumbling about how, had he known they were just coming back up here, he wouldn't have bothered carrying the little monster all that way.  
  
Harry pulled up his ridiculously large robes and began playing with his toes.  
  
Hermione stared at the raven-haired toddler in amazement before rounding on Ron. "What happened?"  
  
"Well..." Ron shifted uncomfortably and told her about the potion.  
  
She nodded in the appropriate places and, after he'd finished, said, "You certainly didn't mean for...THIS to happen. I suspect your potion ingredients were incorrect."  
  
"Thanks for stating the obvious," Ron muttered moodily. He felt rather guilty for turning Harry into a (bothersome) child--the brat was chewing on Ron's Divination homework at the moment--but he would never admit that to Hermione. So instead he stood there shuffling his feet as Hermione pulled out her wand and began casting a series of spells on Harry, none of which seemed to work.  
  
"Hm..." Her forehead wrinkled in thought. "To tell you the truth, Ron...I don't think there's anything we can do."  
  
"What?" Ron squeaked.  
  
"I mean, this is WAY out of my league. I've heard of it being done before...but never legally--" Ron paled. "--And never by accident." She gave him a hard look. "I hope this'll put an end to your experimenting days."  
  
He nodded, absently pushing Harry's glasses up for him. "What'll we do with him? He can't very well go to classes like this...and...we can't leave him here alone. How long will it last?"  
  
Hermione shrugged helplessly.  
  
"'Ohnee!" Harry dimpled and reached for Hermione. "'Ohnee!"  
  
"Aw, isn't that cute?" Ron teased as Hermione lifted Harry and playfully tickled his bared shoulder.  
  
"We really have to consult a professor," she said at length.  
  
Those were the words Ron had been dreading to hear. "Aaaaaaaargh!" He kicked his bedside trunk, then howled again, this time in pain. When he'd calmed down slightly, he said, "D'you have any idea what'll happen to me if someone figures out I had Harry take the potion?!"  
  
Harry, staring with great interest at a furious Ron said, "'On angee?"  
  
"Yes," said Hermione gently, "Ron angry."  
  
Ron growled and plopped on Seamus' bed, eyes shooting daggers at Harry, who had returned to slobbering all over Ron's star chart. "Tell you what, Hermione: you go tell McGonagall while I find someplace to hide for a very long time."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, don't be absurd."  
  
"Surd, surd, surd!" Crowed Harry.  
  
Ron crossed his arms sulkily.  
  
Fifteen minutes later an unfortunate Weasley, Hermione Granger (resident bookworm), and mini-Harry were all lined up in front of Professor McGonagall, who did not look the least bit pleased to see them. Maybe it was because it was eleven o'clock pm, or because the Boy Who Lived was now barely three feet high--whatever the reason, Ron could almost swear flames would shoot out of her nostrils any minute now.  
  
Ron, predictably recieved the chewing out of a lifetime, but Harry didn't really care about this. He had spotted a funny crawly thing near his big toe, the latter of which was sticking out from beneath the black fabric of his robe. He squatted down to prod the crawly thing with his index finger, then attempted to pick it up. It took several tries, but at last he succeeded in scooping it into his palm.  
  
The crawly thing scooted all over his hand, and he clapped his left hand over his right to keep the crawly thing still. Then he laughed because it tickled. He looked up at Ron, who was standing in silence (Professor McGonagall was discussing something with Hermione, and Ron had been temporarily pushed to the side). He wanted to show Ron the crawly thing, because Harry liked it so much, and he thought Ron might like it too.  
  
He tugged on Ron's sleeve, and the redhead knelt down to Harry's eye level. "What, Harry?"  
  
Harry held out his clasped hands.  
  
"What've you got there?" Ron pried apart the tiny fingers, and a spider quickly tried to make its escape; it ended up on Ron's hand. Ron screeched and swung his hand about wildly, falling on his rear in the process. Harry, startled, began to cry.  
  
The spider, sadly, was squished by Hermione, though quite by accident-- she'd whirled around to try to calm down Ron and Harry.  
  
"MR. WEASLEY!" Professor McGonagall thundered.  
  
Ron stood up quickly, shaking, searching the folds of his robes in a frantic attempt to be rid of a million invisible spiders. Hermione picked up Harry and spoke in a low, calming voice until he was quiet.  
  
"Please, refrain from wreaking havoc in my office," said Professor McGonagall dryly.  
  
Ron's hands were clutched into frightened fists, but he mumbled a "Yes, Professor."  
  
Hermione sighed. She and Professor McGonagall had come to the conclusion that it would be too dangerous to meddle with Harry-the potion had been experimental ("And concocted by WEASLEY," McGonagall had said, as if that said it all) and therefor highly unstable. He seemed perfectly fine to Hermione, his fingers tangling in her hair and pulling so hard it brought tears to her eyes.  
  
All the same, they'd just have to wait for it to wear off, and that would hopefully take no more than a week or two.  
  
Professor McGonagall gave Ron a detention ("Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, Mr. Weasley, gives you the right to use your Housemate as a guinea pig.") and mentioned asking Madam Pomfrey if she would watch over Harry for the next few days, but Hermione interrupted as politely as she could.  
  
"Please, Professor, I--we--wouldn't mind taking care of him."  
  
Professor McGonagall snorted rather loudly. "Ridiculous. Harry is." She coughed. "Well, he's a CHILD. I can't expect any student to--"  
  
"We'll be very careful," Hermione assured.  
  
Ron lifted his head long enough to say in an abashed tone, "I helped a lot with my sister when she was younger. So...I know a bit about kids."  
  
Professor McGonagall gave the two of them a skeptical once-over. She considered all of the trouble they'd gotten into during the past few years-- somehow, they'd always managed to get back out of trouble. Why not now? She sighed and with a flick of her wrist said, "Very well, he may remain in your care. As long as...babysitting Mr. Potter doesn't interrupt your studies--"  
  
"It won't!" Ron blurted, returning to silence, however, at Hermione's quelling look.  
  
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. She knew she was going to regret this in the morning, but..."...You're dismissed."  
  
As soon as they left the office, Harry, who had been scooped into Ron's arms with no ado at all, began whining for Ron to put him down. After five minutes of (mostly feigned) tears and loud protests, Hermione exasperatedly ordered Ron to put the "poor child" down. Harry promptly tripped over his own robes. When Hermione bent down to help (Ron sulked moodily a foot away), he shrugged her off.  
  
He didn't like the odd clothes that swamped his rather small body, so he shucked them off. Hermione blushed and looked anywhere else--there had been a shirt underneath the robes, but it fell off without anything to hold it on. Ron laughed and said, "Aw, ickle Harry's in the buff."  
  
"Um, Ron, perhaps you could...clothe him?"  
  
"He doesn't seem to want anything on, does he?" Ron replied reasonably.  
  
Hermione huffed. "He might catch his death of cold out here!"  
  
True, Harry WAS shivering now, but he seemed quite content without the bulky robes. Ron pondered for a moment, then picked up the plain t-shirt Harry had had underneath his robes. He pulled off his own belt and from these materials fashioned a makeshift outfit for Harry.  
  
"There. You can turn around, Hermione."  
  
The brunette did so, then nodded reluctantly. "You'd better hold his hand, Ron, or he might wander off..."  
  
Ron did so. They made awful time getting to Gryffindor Tower, though, mainly because Harry kept stopping to poke at seemingly unremarkable tapestries and window ledges.  
  
The Gryffindors were happy to do anything Hermione and Ron asked, as long as they were allowed to goggle at Harry. Taking advantage of this, Ron convinced Dennis Creevey to let Harry borrow one of his old robes--Creevey had been tiny only a year before, though he'd grown a few inches over summer holiday.  
  
"Oh, he's so CUTE!" Parvati Patil squealed, finally able to have her way with a giggling Harry, who was enjoying every bit of the attention he was getting. Dean Thomas was busily sketching Harry's portrait, and Seamus Finnigan was trying to get Harry to say various curse words (much to Parvati's dismay).  
  
It wasn't until Lavender Brown pinched Harry's cheeks and made him cry that Ron came to the rescue, taking Harry into his arms and saying, "I think it's Harry's bedtime, now."  
  
Parvati argued this point with him, but he was adamant--Harry had had enough excitement for one day, he insisted. Hermione yawned and said her goodnights, kissing Harry's forehead indulgently. Then Ron turned on his heel, nodding to Dean, who had given him a parting wave.  
  
Away from the bustle and noise of the Common Room, Harry snuggled into Ron's chest, and the redhead found himself smiling. It felt good to be the strong one for once, the one in charge. When he entered their dormitory, it only took one glance at Harry's large and potentially dangerous four- poster for Ron to decide where Harry would sleep--next to Ron, of course. It was the safest alternative; there was no danger of him rolling off the bed or waking up scared and alone.  
  
Carefully, Ron tucked in his best friend, pausing to stare at the bright green eyes before taking off Harry's glasses and placing them on the bedside table. "Better?" he said, folding up the robes Dennis Creevey had provided before shoving them in Harry's unlocked trunk.  
  
Harry only yawned and turned over, clutching a corner of the sheets in his small hand. He missed the crawly thing and he felt very, very sleepy and warm. He liked having Ron pay attention to him, but he didn't like the parchment pale light and hoped that it would go away soon.  
  
Ron emptied his pockets (wand, antidote, stale cracker) and slid out of his clothes, pulling on his pajamas quickly. He wondered what they would do with Harry come morning; take him to class with them? Not a bad idea, he thought. At least it'll be interesting. He melted into the comfortable covers, and Harry curled close to him. Ron switched off the lights.  
  
So, what do you think, dear readers? Does this deserve continuation, or not? 


	2. Just Another Day in the Life of Ron Weas...

~Daisy Chains~  
  
~Just Another Day in the Life of Ron Weasley~  
  
By morning the entire school knew about Harry Potter's unfortunate transformation.  
  
As Ron walked down the staircase leading to the Great Hall, yawning, Harry in tow, a great number of girls gathered around him. They wanted to stare and play with Harry and ask Ron questions about how he got the way he was ("Is it true--that thing about the potion, I mean?" "Yeah, didn't you brew it, Weasley?"). Ron flushed bright red and tried to detach the two of them, but Harry seemed to be enjoying the attention, and as long as none of the girls pinched his cheeks, he refused to be led away.  
  
They (at last) did reach the Gryffindor table, where they were bombarded with questions by nearly everyone but Hermione.  
  
"Where did ickle Harry sleep last night, eh, Weasley?" Seamus Finnigan finally asked, grinning most lecherously. "Enquiring minds want to know."  
  
"Er..." Ron shifted uncomfortably, Harry on his lap since he was too short to reach the table when left to his own devices.  
  
"With you, Ron?" Neville asked curiously, eyes still a bit droopy with sleep.  
  
Before he could come up with a potentially unembarassing answer, Harry had dipped his hand in a bowl of porridge, squealing with glee. Hermione tutted and began the laborious task of cleaning him, in the process splattering Ron himself with the thick mess.  
  
"Ugg, Hermione!" He complained. She gave him a pitying look but no other consolation.  
  
He shook his head sadly and gave Seamus a pointed look. "Sleep with him? I can barely control him when he's awake..."  
  
Dean Thomas, meanwhile, was sketching another picture of Harry, to Seamus's annoyance. "Oy, Dean, why're you so keen on drawing Harry?" The Irish boy asked peevishly. He'd been hoping his best friend would aid him in teasing Ron.  
  
Dean smiled vaguely and said, "Ever heard of 'seize the moment', Seamus?"  
  
"...No, not really."  
  
"Nevermind, then."  
  
"Aw, Dean, you're no fun."  
  
"Harry!" Ron yelped and shoved the tiny Boy Who Lived (who had been having WAY too much fun with Ron's juice) into Hermione's arms, frantically wiping at his robes. Liquid stained them an even darker black then they were, and damnit, that juice had been cold! Seamus choked on his own juice, not even bothering to stifle his laughter (like Neville was trying to do). Ginny grinned at her brother from Hermione's right, tickling Harry so that he wiggled and laughed, oblivious to his best friend's discomfort.  
  
"Aww, that's so adorable," Parvati sighed, letting Harry chew on her well- manicured nails, an action that made Ron's eyes pop--he had seen how she was if even one of those nails broke, and here she was, letting Harry (of all people) teeth on them.  
  
'They've all gone bloody mad,' he thought bitterly. Sure, the kid was cute, but this was Harry, after all. Harry Potter, who was shy around girls and hated Malfoy and loved Quidditch.  
  
No sooner had these thoughts suggested themselves then he was pulled up from his seat by the collar of his robes and hoisted around to face a very angry Quidditch Captain, one Alicia Spinnet. "Weasley--what happened to my Seeker?" She asked with a falsely calm voice. He trembled like a leaf in the wind for a moment before regaining his composure (heh, or not). He could see Fred and George entering the Great Hall behind Alicia and he gave them a pleading look which they ignored.  
  
"Er...it was an accident?"  
  
"Wrong answer, Weasley."  
  
Ron had only ever seen Alicia Spinnet angry one or two times--mostly with matters having to do with Quidditch or...Harry, as in this instance. She was a relatively calm girl, but he certainly didn't enjoy the furious expression on her face now.  
  
"He'll be back to normal in a week...or two."  
  
"..." Spots of color appeared on her cheeks, and she fixed him with a death glare. "A week or two? A WEEK, or two, you say? Do you have any idea how much wasted time that is? The Season starts in a couple of weeks! And look at him! He's a shrimp with glasses! His Firebolt's taller than he is."  
  
"Um. I'm sorry?" Ron smiled in what he hoped was a winning way.  
  
"That's good to know, Weasley. But I have every intention of murdering you if I don't have my Seeker back in 'a week or two'."  
  
"Duely noted...Can you let me go?"  
  
Alicia sighed and disentangled herself from his robes, stalking off--most likely to burn off her anger via a nice, long Quidditch match against herself. She was known to do that.  
  
Ron sighed in relief, then turned to glare at the twins, who had seated themselves a few places down near their friend, Lee Jordan. "Why didn't you help me?" he demanded, trying to ignore the fact that he probably would have ignored himself too--he was wet, sticky, and had transformed everyone's favorite hero into a halfpint kid who liked to spill things.  
  
"Did you hear something?" Fred asked loudly.  
  
"Probably the wind..." George replied just as loudly.  
  
Ron huffed and sat down, staring at Harry crossly. This was all Harry's fault. Not really, but he felt better pretending it was.  
  
As if his morning couldn't get any worse, Hermione bullied Ron into taking Harry with him to his Divination lesson (Hermione had Arithmancy, and she insisted that someone as noisy as Harry wouldn't be allowed in--though Ron pointed out that the same went for Divination, she ignored him and went on her way).  
  
Professor Trelawny had a jolly good time predicting that Harry would trip and fall down a flight of stairs, stay a toddler forever, and/or meet up with You Know Who while having his diaper changed. Ron didn't take this very seriously--he knew Harry was (thank the Powers That Be) potty-trained.  
  
Between classes, Harry somehow managed to smuggle a spider into his robes, and he let it go just as they entered Herbology--predictably, Ron freaked, Hermione scolded Harry, and there was a lot of much-unneeded pain for all three of them when Professor Sprout (who was having a very bad week, anyway- -it was That Time of the Month) yelled at them and threatened to give Ron and Hermione detentions.  
  
Ron sulked all through Herbology, though he wasn't really angry at Harry. It was hard to be angry with someone who kissed your cheek and patted your hair as way of an apology. He was angry that Professor Sprout had reminded him of his upcoming detention--he wasn't sure what McGonagall was cooking up, but he was sure it was gruesome, whatever it was.  
  
Lunch was relatively uneventful. Seamus and Ginny were thrilled when Hermione let them have a go at feeding Harry--he ate too much and threw up all over Seamus's robes, but other than that...  
  
Next class was Potions. Harry, at first, refused to even go into the classroom, and after much pulling on Ron's part, they managed to get him in through the door and into his usual seat. Ron sighed. What had he done to deserve this? 


	3. Fraternizing With the Enemy

~Daisy Chains~  
  
~Fraternizing With the Enemy~  
  
Draco Malfoy sneered. He had heard the rumors, of course: the Great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was the victim of an experimental potion of Weasley's and had been transformed into a mere kid. Practically a baby. But of course Draco hadn't really believed it. Until he saw Weasley strolling down the stone corridor towards Potions like it was nothing, one large hand holding onto Potter's smaller, darker one.  
  
"Leave it to the Weasel to screw a simple potion up," he murmured just loud enough for Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle to hear. His two "friends"-- mutual aquaintences, more like--snickered rather dumbly.  
  
The Gryffindors and Slytherins had double Potions today, it just so happened, and Draco was curious as to what effect a mini-Harry would have on Professor Snape. It was an interesting prospect, and he allowed himself to dwell on it as he entered the classroom and took his seat, his eyes never really leaving the tiny figure of Harry Potter.  
  
Throughout the lesson, Professor Snape admonished Weasley sixteen times and glowered at Potter continuously. This amused Draco to no end, and he watched with glee as Weasley was chewed out for letting Potter play with a pile of beetle eyes.  
  
At the end of the class, everyone barring Harry turned in their Potions project. Draco knew he would get full marks.  
  
The rest of Draco's day was relatively uneventful. He teased Weasley and Granger loudly (though he couldn't bring himself to torment this new, sweeter version of Potter, for some reason) and made Crabbe and Goyle fetch and carry for him. He also had a nice dinner. He sent Crabbe and Goyle ahead to their dormitory, disentangled himself from Parkinson (she was hitting on him again, much to his displeasure), and took an unfrequently used corridor in the direction of the dungeons.  
  
It was here that he found Harry, wandering around on his own, his tear- streaked face lit by torches in the walls. "Well, what a surprise. It's Harry Potter, superstar," Draco said mockingly. Usually that particular tone of voice would get Potter on his case immediately, but now the green eyes behind huge lenses only widened. "What're you doing out here all alone, anyway?" Draco asked nastily. "Have Weasley and Granger abandoned you? I don't blame them."  
  
"Lost," Harry said.  
  
Draco gave him a retorical look. "Oh, come now, Potter. Surely you know the way back to your precious Gryffindor common room."  
  
"Got lost."  
  
"Don't look at me like that. I certainly can't help you. I'm Slytherin, remember?"  
  
At this, Harry starting wailing at the top of his lungs, and Draco resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears. He instead regarded Harry with what might have been dislike but was actually interest. "You really are a kid, aren't you. Heh. I could take advantage of this little situation, Potter. I want you to be aware of that."  
  
Sniffles from Harry, whose nose was dripping.  
  
"Luckily for you, I'm feeling generous today. And--and for God's sake, wipe your nose."  
  
Harry wiped away snot and tears with the sleeve of his slightly-too-big robes. Draco wrinkled his own nose in distaste. "That is incredibly disgusting. You know, I should take you straight to a professor. Let one know exactly how responsible Weasley is being. Professor Snape, perhaps?"  
  
He pondered this for a moment, absently pushing Harry's glasses up for him. There was a loud boom--thunder, apparently a storm was brewing--and Harry clutched his leg, wimpering. Draco rolled his eyes. "Then again, Professor Snape--while admirable--is not my favorite person at the moment." This because Snape was actively working against the Dark Lord now--Draco knew this from a conversation he'd happened to overhear the day before--and his mood dampened considerably. Draco's father was, of course, a Death Eater--Draco respected his father above all other adults, even if he thought the Dark Lord's methods a bit cliche and, well, boring.  
  
There was another crash of thunder, and Draco tried to pry Harry off of him before the circulation to his legs was cut off. "Potter--damnit, leggo of me!"  
  
"Waaaaah!"  
  
"Look, fine. Fine. I'll take you wherever you want to go. Just--please-- take your hands away from me before I'm contaminated with your Muggle- loving germs."  
  
Harry, however, had no intention of letting go of Draco. Apparently, his older self's loathing for Draco Malfoy had not transferred to his younger self. He had no qualms with clinging to Draco for all he was worth--after all, mini-Harry had never seen a thunderstorm before.  
  
Draco was ready to tear his hair out with frustration. At last, he simply swept Harry off his feet, saying, "You're such a pussy, Potter."  
  
"What pussy is?"  
  
"Er..." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Nothing. It's nothing. I guess...I can take you to the Staff Room, at least. Someone's bound to be there."  
  
"No! Go bed."  
  
"Come again?" Draco frowned, tightening his grip on Harry. The kid wasn't exactly light, and he was afraid of dropping him--not because he didn't want to hurt Harry, mind you, but because he wanted to keep his legs to himself.  
  
"'S bedtime, stupid," Harry said, using one of the words Seamus had so kindly taught him. Draco was not amused.  
  
"I told you, I don't know the way to your common room."  
  
"Sleep with you, then," Harry said, dimpling.  
  
Draco coughed. "Oh. Yeah right. I don't think so." He sighed. It was very dark in the corridor now, despite the torches. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to find his way to the Staff Room. But hell would freeze over before he let Harry Potter sleep in his bed.  
  
"You no sleep?"  
  
"Of course I sleep, you nimrod. I AM human, you know."  
  
"What nimrod is?"  
  
"Why d'you ask so many questions, huh?"  
  
"'On say is only way t' get answers."  
  
"Fascinating, gag me with a spoon, can we go ahead and get this over with? I hope none of the professors think I purposefully seperated you from the Weasel...I don't fancy a detention."  
  
"That where 'On is."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Detention."  
  
"Ah. That explains a lot. I suppose you got it in your head to go find him--perhaps lend an oh-so-experienced hand?"  
  
"Yup! Got lost!"  
  
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Draco said dryly.  
  
"Well, bedtime."  
  
"No. Find-a-professor time."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Noooo!"  
  
"I am not arguing with you. And you're heavy, you know that?"  
  
Harry pinched his cheeks and said, "Cuuuute!" Girls had been doing that to him all morning, and he wanted to try it on the strange boy who held him.  
  
Draco sputtered for a moment. Then he said, "That's it. I think I'll just leave you where I found you--"  
  
BOOM.  
  
"Aaaaah!"  
  
"Blimey, calm down!"  
  
"Scaaaaary!"  
  
"It's just a bit of bad weather."  
  
Tiny arms wrapped around Draco's neck and a shaking body pressed itself to his chest. He felt his cold heart melting.  
  
"Bedtime?" Harry asked hopefully.  
  
"Ah. Hm." This was the same boy who'd tormented him for the past four years, Draco reminded himself. Well...almost the same. The glasses were much to large, and those huge eyes had certainly not been one of Harry Potter's predominant features--had they? Tears. The bloody kid was crying again? "...I guess it couldn't...hurt...too much," he said reluctantly. It was much too late to try finding the Staff Room, he reasoned, and anyway, he was tired.  
  
"Yay!" Was Harry's enthusiastic reply. 


	4. Bedtime Stories and Other Dilemmas

Notes: I am quite aware that the "real" Draco Malfoy would want to get Harry off his hands as soon as possible--but this is all in good fun. ^^ I'm not making much of an effort to stay in-character (as a few readers have noticed). Also, I haven't really set an age for Harry...er, I guess he's about 2 or 3 years old. Thanks to my (new, lol) beta, Mauve, for correcting some of my dumb mistakes. :P  
  
~Daisy Chains~  
  
~Bedtime Stories and Other Dilemmas~  
  
Many of the Slytherins had retired to their private rooms by the time Harry and Draco entered the Slytherin common room. Harry recieved many stares and lifted eyebrows, but Draco refused to comment, and no one actually asked Draco anything concerning his strange guest. Don't ask, don't tell-- a rather convenient motto for the almost non-existant plot of this tale.  
  
(When they'd left the room, however, Blaise Zabini muttered to Pansy Parkinson, "Didn't I tell you? It's the whole love-hate relationship deal," to which Pansy replied, "That's absurd! Draco and...Potter?!" "Oh yes, it's a plot used in many, many novels...though usually the two main characters are male and female," Blaise replied, drawing on his knowledge of romance novels which ran surprisingly deep. But anyway.)  
  
Once in his dorm room, however, Draco found resistance in the form of his two best "friends"--mutual aquaintences, really--Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe sat up from his sprawled out position on his bed, and Goyle turned from torturing a spider by the window. A slash of lightning, and their faces were illuminated two-fold. Harry wimpered.  
  
"What's he doin' here?" Crabbe, the slightly more articulate of the two, asked.  
  
"I, er..." Draco dropped Harry on the bed nearest the door, which was currently unoccupied--they had no idea when Cameron Difleu would get over that nasty bout of--well, Madam Pomfrey ("The Muggle-loving poof," Draco had said dismissively when he'd been informed of who was caring for Difleu) hadn't been able to figure that one out, but whatever it was, it made blue hair grow out of his nose and warts appear on various parts of his anatomy (his rear, for instance).  
  
Suffice it to say, Draco thought Difleu's old bed perfect for their really unwanted guest. "Er, well, you see...I." His mind raced. Crabbe and Goyle had no sense of compassion whatsoever ('And neither do I,' Draco thought stubbornly, 'I was just unwillingly pulled into all this.') and they might take it upon themselves to rid the Slytherin Fifth Years of one scar-faced little boy.  
  
Finally : "Oh, you kidnapped him!" Crabbe said excitedly.  
  
Draco snapped his fingers and grinned. "Yes! Yes, that's it exactly." He took a moment to compose himself and then stared down at the two Slytherins superiorily. "I expect the both of you to keep this quiet. Don't ask, don't tell, you know. Can't have any Gryffindors catching wind of my...um, incredibly evil plan."  
  
"What IS your plan?" Crabbe asked dully. Goyle had gone back to pulling the legs off the spider, and Harry was watching this with great interest.  
  
"None of your business," Draco replied firmly. "But Potter must be contained to this one room. So...That's why he's here."  
  
"Cool." And Crabbe fell back against his headboard, his head hitting wood making a dull THONK, though Draco wasn't entirely sure he could feel it. Idiot.  
  
Draco turned to Harry--and found he'd disppeared into thin air.  
  
Not really--he was at Goyle's elbow, reaching a tiny hand to steal the crawly thing. Oh, yes, he knew a crawly thing when he saw one, and he wanted this one. But the big person who was playing with the crawly thing wouldn't let him have it, and so they glared at one another until Harry finally thonked the big person on his nose and said, "Gimme!"  
  
"No!"  
  
Harry pouted. "You gimme now."  
  
"Nooooo! It's my spider."  
  
Harry blinked. "What spider is?"  
  
"This." The big person held up the crawly thing, and Harry took that opportunity to snatch it away and hide it in his shirt.  
  
It didn't crawl, though. It just...fell. Harry backed up a bit to see that it had fallen to the stone floor, and he nudged it with a toe. It didn't move then, either. "Broke?" He asked the big person.  
  
"It's dead, genius," Draco said from behind him.  
  
Harry stared at the crawly thing a few moments more and then sniffled a bit. Draco, sensing a crying fit, lifted Harry and deposited him back on Difleu's bed so fast Harry didn't have time to protest.  
  
"All right, you wanted to sleep so much," Draco said. "Now do it."  
  
"But..." Harry frowned cutely (though Draco fervently denied that the words 'Harry' and 'cute' belonged in the same sentence). "But need story."  
  
"Good grief. Here." Draco tossed him a Potions textbook. "Read a bloody story, and hurry up about it."  
  
"You read."  
  
"Me? I hardly think--"  
  
"Please?"  
  
"...Potter...Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this," muttered Draco, finally sitting cross-legged on Difleu's bed and clearing his throat. He caught Goyle giving him an odd look (Crabbe had fallen asleep already) and frowned. "What're you looking at? Potter wants a story."  
  
"Um."  
  
"Shouldn't you be retiring soon?"  
  
"Yeah. Sure."  
  
"Ahem." Draco stared at Harry in disbelief then said, "Once upon a time--"  
  
"No book?" Harry held out the Potions textbook.  
  
"No, no, this story doesn't call for a book," Draco said. "So, once upon a time, there was a smart, handsome, utterly irrestible prince. He had everything in the world. Money. Power. People to order around. A Firebolt. He--"  
  
"Is me?"  
  
"No, Potter, is ME. The prince, as I was saying, had everything. But one day an evil wizard came along and stole everything. The evil wizard was angry at the prince, you see, for trying to help the wizard with his...social problems. Um. And the evil wizard was very stubborn. So after the wizard stole everything, the prince went on a long journey...blah blah...and found true love...blah blah...and then he found the wizard and ripped him to a million bloody shreds--"  
  
"Too scary!"  
  
BOOM.  
  
"Eep!" Harry dove under Difleu's coverlet, and Draco sighed.  
  
"Have it your way. The prince found the wizard and, er, taught him the error of his ways. And the wizard gave everything back, and as soon as the prince was back in power he had the wizard thrown in prison so he could cause no more damage. Then the prince and his significant other lived happily ever after. The end. Now go to sleep."  
  
"'Kay." Harry closed his eyes almost all the way; now that he was actually in bed, he was determined to stay awake as long as possible. Draco noticed this and said, "Give me your glasses." Harry did so. Everything became very fuzzy, and it was hard for him to see. Draco gave him a warning look, just daring him to get out of bed, and then left for his own four-poster.  
  
Harry lay awake, eyes wide in the darkness--every time lightning flashed, he could see the shadows dancing and make out certain shapes. He really didn't like this place. It was nothing like his Gryffindor dorm room-- warm, safe, comfortably cluttered. Here, no one snored, no one talked in their sleep. There were the initial shifting sounds of Draco crawling into bed, and then--nothing.  
  
Harry crept out from beneath the sheets until his bare feet hit the freezing floor.  
  
BOOM.  
  
We'll leave Harry where he is for a moment to rejoin with Ron, who was not having a very good night, either. He didn't have a very creative detention; not only was he achy and sleepy, he was also bored. He'd been polishing trophies again--and though, he admitted, it could have been worse, it was hard to remind himself of that when his poor nose was about to fall off, it was so filled with the acrid smell of polish.  
  
It was well past midnight before he was allowed to return to his dormitory. He trudged into the Gryffindor common room and was immediately greeted by the worried face of Hermione. He was really very pleased that she'd waited up for him. She smiled a bit weakly and said, "How are you? You'd better get a shower before you go to bed, you smell awful...is Harry with you?"  
  
"Er, no. I thought you had him."  
  
"...What?"  
  
"I mean...I had detention, so I thought you took him with you from the Great Hall after dinner."  
  
"No, I didn't! I couldn't find him, so I figured YOU'D taken him with you to detention!"  
  
"Oh. Oh God," Ron said in a tiny voice. "Didn't anyone...didn't someone get him? I mean...Dean, Seamus or Parvati--"  
  
"No, no, none of them did, I asked."  
  
"Where the hell is he, then?!"  
  
"How should I know?" she retorted, her hair practically frizzling up with anger.  
  
"This is it." Ron sat down in one of the armchairs with a thud. "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die a horrible, painful death."  
  
"What, when Professor McGonagall--"  
  
"McGonagall? I'm not worried about her." He waved a hand carelessly. "It's Alicia Spinnet I'm worried about..."  
  
"Oh, honestly, Ron. We'll just go and find him. He's bound to have wandered off somewhere..."  
  
"The castle's HUGE! How on earth could we possibly look through all of it in...one...night." Hermione caught his eye, and they both nodded as one, though Ron said aloud what they'd both been thinking, "The map."  
  
Harry, meanwhile, had stumbled his way around the Slytherin Fifth Year dorm room, and had succeeded in stubbing his toes twice, walking into a desk, and had nearly given up on ever finding Draco's bed--or anyone's bed, for that matter, other than the empty one he'd left minutes before. He wished he was the prince in the story Draco had told him--if he had everything he wanted, he could have a flashlight to find his way around. Well, he'd rather have a wand...but Hermione said he wasn't allowed to play with wands.  
  
Finally, he bumped into something large and fuzzy--fuzzy because everything was fuzzy without his glasses, which he hadn't been able to find--and after many attempts, he was at last able to climb up onto the thing. It was a bed, all right, and there was a lump. He pulled back the covers and squinted. It looked sort of like Draco, he supposed...if he turned his head to the left a bit. He traced the face...what he guessed was the face...and realized it wasn't the boy who'd killed the crawly thing, and it wasn't the loud one.  
  
Yes, it was definitely Draco.  
  
Harry crawled in under the covers beside Draco and then the lightning didn't bother him so much and he could finally fall asleep.  
  
He dreamed of being a prince and saving Ron Weasley from a dragon that turned out to be a lizard with social problems.  
  
Draco dreamed of nothing because he was too busy being toasty-warm in his empty bed--well, HE thought it was empty, anyway, and he was happy to hold on to this disillusion until morning. 


	5. Of Maps and Showers

~Daisy Chains~  
  
~Of Maps and Showers~  
  
"Where does he keep it?" asked Hermione, referring to the infamous Marauder's Map, darting after Ron into the boy's dormitory. Ron grinned and said, "In his trunk, where else?"  
  
Hermione watched as Ron fiddled with the lock to said trunk, before she took it upon herself to intervene. "Alohamora!" The lid popped up and Hermione smiled in a self-satisfied way. "Simple," she said.  
  
They found the Marauder's Map near the bottom of the trunk, underneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Following a small scuffle over who should hold the map, they spread it out on Ron's bed--it looked like nothing more remarkable than a piece of parchment. Ron frowned in thought. "He told me how to use this thing...let's see...oh, yeah, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,'" and he tapped the parchment with his wand.  
  
Almost instantly, the winding hallways and spacious rooms of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry appeared. Little labled dots here and there marked where students and teachers were. An example: the dot named "Professor Snape" was to be found in the Restricted Section of the library, and another dot, affectionately named "Fred and George Weasley", was wandering around in the kitchens.  
  
Hermione and Ron ignored these, however, and searched every room and passageway for "Harry Potter". They finally did find the miniscule dot--in the Slytherin Dungeons. Ron gaped fish-like and uttered this intelligent remark: "Bloody hell."  
  
Minutes later, they were racing down a dark corridor, the Invisibility Cloak thrown over their heads--it was, after all, night time, and good little students should have been tucked away in their warm beds.  
  
"How're--we--going to--get in?" Hermione panted, stumbling over a disappearing stairstep that led deeper into Hogwarts. "We don't even--know the password."  
  
"If that bastard Malfoy's done anything to Harry, I swear--" Ron growled low in his throat, eyes on the Marauder's Map, though he knew it only showed the truth--Harry really was in the Slytherin Common Room. Ron and Harry had been in the Slytherin Common Room in their Second Year--he had no pleasant memories of the place. But then, he was a bit biased.  
  
"Um..." Hermione waited (albeit, impatiently) as Ron stood outside the Slytherin entrance--it looked like a plain stone wall to Hermione, who, due to an unfortunate incident involving a Polyjuice Potion and cat hair, had never entered the Slytherin Dungeons. "Ron, remember that thing I said? About not knowing the password?"  
  
"Well..." Ron scratched his nose and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak so he'd have more room to move. He seriously doubted anyone would be coming anywhere near their location at this time of night. "It was 'pure-blood' last time--" The wall made no sign that it had heard him. "--But I guess they'd've changed it by now. It's bound to be something predictable and undoubtably nasty. Mudblood."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Er. Muggles suck?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. Other than that, nothing happened.  
  
"You're not going to figure it out using only guesswork," she said. Deciding to depart more of her amazing reasoning, she added, "I think we should just wait until morning--"  
  
"Are you kidding?!" Ron gave her an incredulous look. "Harry, (who has, I might mention, come to our aid countless times) could be dead or, worse, BRAINWASHED by that evil son of a bitch, Malfoy--and I KNOW he has something to do with this--damnit, I should've KNOWN something like this would happen--"  
  
"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said quite level-headedly. "You're beginning to sound more neurotic than me."  
  
They eventually did decide to wait until morning--which made their whole trip down to the Slytherin Dungeons rather pointless, as it hadn't accomplished anything. By the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione had everything figured out: come morning, Malfoy would have to make an appearance in the Great Hall, and that was when they would make their move--i.e., rat him out to a teacher in Hermione's version, and kill the bastard, in Ron's.  
  
Hermione and Ron retired to their seperate dormitories.  
  
Fast forward to a few hours later. Draco awoke feeling more comfortable than he had in a long time. It was almost as if someone was in bed with him. He turned over sleepily--and frowned. Someone was buried beneath his covers. Hmm. He consulted his memory and asked, 'Did I perchance do anything last night you're not telling me about?'  
  
His memory answered that it had no recollection of falling asleep with anyone in his near vicinity. He peeked beneath the coverlet and confirmed his worst suspicions--it was Harry Potter. He was clearly lost in dream land, as his eyelids were closed firmly over the familiar acid-green eyes, and his thumb was shoved in his mouth. Draco allowed the tiniest of smiles; like this, Potter was actually sort of cute. In an annoying-as- hell-simply-by-being-Harry-Potter way.  
  
He banished all incriminating thoughts and forced himself out of the cozy bed. He desperately wanted to crawl back in beside Potter and drift off again, but that was out of the question. He needed a shower, and (he made a face) his mouth tasted like something had gone rotten in it.  
  
Harry chose that moment to join Draco in the waking world. He yawned and rolled over, reaching out for a body that was no longer present, and when he realized that he wasn't able to fall back asleep all by his lonesome (the morning sun was shining in on his face, as well, and could be blamed just as much as Draco), sat up, rubbing his eyes. His tummy growled, and he felt really groggy. He wanted some pumpkin juice, and he said so out loud.  
  
Draco, watching all of this, said, "You'll have to wait until breakfast like everyone else, won't you." He tossed a fresh change of robes over his shoulders. "I'm going. I'll be back whenever, and tell Vincent that, all right, or he'll come looking for me, and I won't have anyone bothering me in the shower."  
  
"Shower?"  
  
"Yes. I need a bath."  
  
"I come?"  
  
"Not on your life, Potter," Draco said flatly. "You've already invaded my bed, I should think that's enough for you."  
  
"I need bath too, you know." Harry made a show of sniffing himself and wincing, as if he couldn't bear his own smell. "Stinky."  
  
"Ha. Nice try. Don't move from that spot."  
  
"Glasses?"  
  
"Table. Use your bloody eyes."  
  
Draco put one hand on the doorknob--and Harry broke out in loud, high- pitched sobs that Draco was sure the whole castle could hear. The Slytherin bristled and said in a frantic whisper, "Shut the hell up, Potter, or you'll have the headmaster himself in here--"  
  
Harry continued wailing, rubbing his eyes in earnest. "N-n-need b-bath!"  
  
"No! I'm taking my shower ALONE, and then I'm going to dump you with a professor and go ON with my life--is any of this computing?"  
  
Apparently not. Draco growled in exasperation and scooped Harry up. Harry was immediately quiet, and he even gave Draco a watery smile. "Get bath now?"  
  
"No, I'm gonna wring your annoying little neck," Draco retorted violently, though he was secretly glad that Harry was smiling like that; it meant he wasn't likely to have a tantrum. He handed Harry his glasses from the bedside table and said, "You're a real pain in the arse. You'd better keep your eyes closed."  
  
Promptly, Harry squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
"Ack. Idiot."  
  
And with that friendly comment, Harry and an ever-reluctant Draco set off for the nearest bathroom[1].  
  
Harry swung his short legs back and forth. He was sitting on a toilet lid, back turned. He could hear water running from the waterfall thingamajig that Draco called a water faucet. Harry wasn't allowed to turn around or move or talk or breath too loud. That was what Draco had said. He was finding all of this very difficult to remember, let alone accomplish. He rubbed his nose. He needed a tissue.  
  
"Why I got to stay so...so still?" Harry yawned. "Boooooring."  
  
"My altruism only goes so far," Draco replied, his voice muffled by water and scrubbing sounds.  
  
Harry had no idea what altruism was, so he ignored this comment. The cement floor was damp, and he stretched forward until the very tips of his toes could skim over the water. It felt funny, and he laughed.  
  
"Weeeeet!"  
  
Draco muttered something that might have been sarcastic and cruel and, in fact, was. But he was experiencing the painful stabs of affection (painful for any self-respecting Slytherin, anyway), so he could be forgiven for this.  
  
Harry heard the water being turned off, and (without turning around) asked, "My turn?"  
  
"Give me a freakin' second."  
  
"...My turn now?"  
  
"..." Rustling of fabric. Harry wrinkled his nose to straighten his overlarge glasses.  
  
"NOW?"  
  
"Potter, you're a nightmare. All right. Your turn."  
  
"Yaaaaah! My turn, my turn!"  
  
Harry gleefully stripped himself of all his clothes--the robes that Dennis Creevey had given him, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts that served as long pants for him--and hopped into Draco's now-empty stall. He stared up at the showerhead in fascination and said, "Water come down?"  
  
Draco, fighting a blush that he fervently denied was staining his cheeks, said, "You have to turn it on...wait, you don't know how, do you? I'm surprised Weasley hasn't at least taught you proper hygeine."  
  
"'On is not mahturnal. That what is 'Onee say."  
  
"Maternal. Maternal? Ha ha ha!" Draco towel-dried his hair, giving Harry a critical eye. "Somehow I'm not surprised. How he put up with you is beyond me."  
  
"'On like me," Harry said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height of almost three feet.  
  
"Well, I certainly do not."  
  
"Why not?" Harry reached up for the showerhead, and Draco sighed and told him to back away while he tested the temperature of the water. When it was warm (he briefly considered letting it get too hot for Harry, but decided against it--for no reason, really), he told Harry to step beneath the spray.  
  
"No."  
  
"B-but--" Draco sputtered. "But you wanted a bloody bath so badly! What sort of--"  
  
"You don't like me!"  
  
"I--I." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Potter, we've been enemies since Year One. I'm not SUPPOSED to like you."  
  
Harry's face scrunched up, and he sniffled. "Y-y-you're mean!" He kicked Draco as hard as he could--which wasn't very hard. It hardly fazed the blonde--he glared down at a red-faced Harry, who had crossed his plump arms over his naked chest.  
  
"If you're going to be like that, you can just..." Harry had begun to sob again. "Just..." Big green eyes blinked tearfully at him. "...Damnit, you cry too much." He sighed and said, "Look, I'm not exactly crazy about you but...I guess you're okay. Now will you please--?" He motioned toward the shower.  
  
Harry pulled off his steamy glasses and said happily, "'Kay."  
  
Aproximately thirty minutes later, they returned to the Slytherin Common Room. It was late enough that a few of Draco's housemates were up. Pansy Parkinson attached herself to him, giving Harry a nasty look before breaking the Slytherin-motto-so-convenient-to-the-non-existant-plot--er, in simple terms, the "don't ask, don't tell" thing.  
  
"Draco, tell me, won't you be in...an uncomfortable situation when you go down to breakfast with the brat--er, um, Potter?"  
  
"Oh, ye Gods..." Blaise Zabini, eavesdropping from a green armchair, gave Draco a pitying look. "You're in for it this time, Malfoy. By the way...Crabbe was looking for you."  
  
"As if my life isn't complicated enough. Where is he?"  
  
"Good question. I'll get back to you when I know the answer."  
  
"Draco? Why don't you just let ME take care of Potter--"  
  
"No." Draco held Harry out of Pansy's reach. "I'm not going down for breakfast."  
  
"Wise," said Blaise. "Starving yourself, eh?"  
  
"No. Pansy. You're going to bring my breakfast up to me."  
  
"I am?"  
  
"Yes. And--" He smiled charmingly, and could see her knees turning to jello. "Bring enough for two, will you?"  
  
"O-of course."  
  
"How about me?" Blaise tried to imitate Draco's smile, but ended up looking like a wolf in heat.  
  
Pansy grimaced. "...How about no?"  
  
Vincent Crabbe was nowhere to be found, so Draco decided whatever he had had to say couldn't be very important.  
  
And so, Draco and Harry enjoyed a rather tasty breakfast in the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy doting over Draco, and Harry shoving food as fast as he could down his throat.  
  
Ron and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, exchanging incredulous looks. Morning had come, and no Malfoy, and no Harry, and...Ron beat his head against the table.  
  
"I'm going to DIE..."  
  
  
  
  
  
[1]=I've only heard mention of two bathrooms in the books. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the boy's bathroom (I THINK that's mentioned...), and the Prefect's bathroom. Now...with a school that big, does anyone honestly think it's plausible those are the only available bathrooms? *sweatdrop* I've just invented another bathroom, anyway. One with shower stalls. Think summer camp...^_~ 


	6. Trouble Will Find You

Notes: Watch out for rampant OOCness...ooh, and the title for this chapter is also the title of a children's book I'm rather fond of, the authur of which is Joan M. Lexau...I thought the name appropriate, but the title really belongs to her.  
  
~Daisy Chains~ ~Trouble Will Find You~  
  
Sadly, Ron trudged from the Great Hall. His first class was Herbology today--with the Hufflepuffs. He stopped for a moment to stare at the entrance hall. This was probably the last time he'd ever see it before he died a horrible, painful death. And the grass, oh, the green grass. He bent down (amongst odd looks from his housemates and an exasperated one from Hermione) and ran trembling fingers over the sharp blades of grass. He'd sure miss the grass.  
  
And the sky. He opened his arms to the cerulean blue heavens and said to himself, 'I never truly appreciated you, sky.' He held back his emotions valiantly, though.  
  
The greenhouse. He patted the greenhouse as they entered for their Herbology lesson.  
  
And Professor Sprout!  
  
Hermione watched with horror as Ron leapt forward and hugged Professor Sprout to his breast, declaring, "You were such a great professor, Professor! I'm going to miss caring for icky plants under your loving supervision!"  
  
Hermione had never seen Professor Sprout as a particularly "loving" individual. In fact, she was looking very red in the face and demanding the Ron disengage himself from her person at once. He did so, reluctantly, trying to look manly and brave. He took his place beside Hermione, and she whispered, "What's with you, Ron?"  
  
"I. I. I just want to say goodbye to everything," he said in a suffering manner.  
  
Fighting to keep a straight face, Hermione said, "There's really only one thing to do at this point."  
  
Ron stared with barely contained despair. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.  
  
"We have to go to Professor Dumbledore. It's the only way...In the meantime..." She cast a glance in Professor Sprout's direction, and lowered her voice. "If anyone asks about Harry, we'll say he's in his room, that he's taken ill."  
  
"Brilliant plan, Hermione," Ron said, before slouching low in his chair, the pit of his stomach having fallen away.  
  
Draco, it just so happened, was having problems of his own. He found himself loath to part with Harry, and that rather shocked him. These misplaced emotions were really beginning to get on his nerves. As soon as Harry was gone, everything would be back to normal, he assured himself.  
  
However, before he could set off for his first class, he was intercepted by Vincent Crabbe, who appeared quite relieved to see him. "Draco!" The (considerably) larger boy panted at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. Draco put one hand on his hip, his other hand tightening around Harry's. Harry was trying to pull away to play with a magical doll one of the First Year Slytherin girls had left in front of the hearth.  
  
"Spit it out, Vincent," Draco said impatiently. "I'm in a hurry. Potter wanted to have bit a fun with the porridge--we may not have gotten it all out of your bedspread, but I'm sure a house-elf'll--"  
  
"Your father sent you an owl."  
  
"Wh-what?" Draco stumbled slightly.  
  
"The owl couldn't get all the way down here from the Great Hall...so...I got it for you."  
  
Apart from being surprised that Crabbe was talking in actual words instead of grunts, Draco was shell-shocked by the reminder of his father, and with that a reminder that he, Draco, was worst enemies with the boy currently clinging to his leg and making faces at Crabbe.  
  
"What did my father send me?"  
  
"A, uh, letter."  
  
"Oh. Well, hand it over." Draco took the neat envelope with the Malfoy family crest on it and then ordered Crabbe to go on ahead to his first lesson. "Wouldn't want you to be late on account of me," he said in a sugary sweet voice. As soon as Crabbe was gone, Draco tore open the letter (Harry, by the way, took this opportunity to snatch up the magical doll--he liked its sharp teeth and the way it said "I LOVE the Dark Lord!" whenever he pressed it's tummy).  
  
Draco stared at the letter.  
  
Draco,  
  
It has come to my attention via our Death Eater Network that you, MY SON (though perhaps not for much longer), have been meddling in certain matters that are not of your concern. In other words, kindly refrain from taking in Lost Little Orphans. If you will recall, I have explicitly told you time and time again to NEVER, under ANY circumstances, take a lost little orphan or an abused animal under your wing. It doesn't do well for your image. I don't know WHO this lost little orphan is, actually, and I don't particularly care. I want it back out on the streets...or wherever it came from. Do you understand me?  
  
Lucius.  
  
P.S. Your mother said to tell you that she'll be sending you a batch of her magic-made cookies come Christmas...as well as a stack of ridiculously expensive presents I was loath to buy you.  
  
"Imagine that," said Draco, pulling the doll out of Harry's grasp. "Father thinks I've taken in a lost little orphan. Actually...you kind of ARE a lost little orphan. If I actually had a heart, I'd feel sorry for you," he addressed Harry. He walked determinedly toward the Common Room exit. "Well, off we go."  
  
Draco's first lesson was uneventful. He had Professor Binns, who was always rather absorbed with his teaching and didn't seem to recognize Harry for who he was. Of course, Draco got plenty of odd looks from his housemates, now that so many of them were all in one room, but no one remarked on his odd companion--don't ask, don't tell.  
  
He knew he'd have a bit of a problem once he went into the Potions classroom. Weasley and Granger would be there, and so would about a million (okay, say ten) other Gryffindors. It looked like it was time for him to hand Harry over to a professor. 'Which you should have done to begin with, you prat,' his conscience informed him. It was generally very quiet, but ever since he'd met child Harry, his conscience had been speaking up more and more.  
  
'I was going to,' he assured it. 'I was just...biding my time.'  
  
'Ha. Yeah, right.'  
  
It was then that Harry grabbed Draco's robes, bent over, and was sick all over the stone floor. Draco yelped and tried to leap aside, but only succeeded in dragging Harry along with him.  
  
"Damn it, Potter, why'd you have to--" He shut up immediately when he realized that Harry was crying. Deciding that he simply COULDN'T turn Harry in when he was in so much distress ('A good thing,' he added mentally), he carefully lifted the boy, held him out at arms length, and trudged back to the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
He supposed Harry must have eaten too much porridge and toast that morning. He also supposed he'd have to let Pansy Parkinson watch after Harry this afternoon so he could go and apologize...no, negotiate with his professors concerning how much extra work he would have to do to make up his missed classes.  
  
Once in the Fifth Year dorm room, Harry vomited on Crabbe's bedspread (which hadn't yet been cleaned of that morning's porridge), and Draco forced the black-haired boy to sit on Difleu's bed, holding a wastepaper basket between his legs. Draco knew he should take Harry to the Hospital Wing, but he honestly thought he could deal with the problem at hand all by himself. He was, after all, a Malfoy.  
  
Later that night.  
  
Draco's "negotiating" had done little good. Even Professor Snape was furious with him. He was loaded down with homework, and though Parkinson seemed willing enough to do anything for Draco, she wasn't making much of an effort to ensure Harry was well taken care of. He (Harry) was STILL sick. He had a slight fever, and his eyes kept going unfocused. Draco was halfway through his work when Harry's stomach finally ran out of actual fluids and food to heave up.  
  
"Try to sleep, then," said Draco rather roughly.  
  
"Medicine?" Harry croaked.  
  
"Why don't you just take him to Madame Pomfrey?" Pansy asked, nudging Draco with her elbow.  
  
"Stupid kid," muttered Draco--though he wasn't sure if he was talking about Harry or himself.  
  
"I'm not staying up all night with him," Pansy said firmly.  
  
"I--" He shook his head, at a loss. "I guess I'd better set off for the Hospital Wing, then?"  
  
"Yes. The best idea you've had all day, Draco."  
  
"Draco! Draco!" Pudgy little hands wrapped around his neck as Draco lifted Harry, careful to not jostle him too much; how humiliating it would be, if Harry were to hurl all over him now, when the vomiting part of his illness had finally abated. "We going where?"  
  
"To see Madame Pomfrey," said Draco, and now that he'd said it, he felt better. In fact, he felt like he was in charge again. He was getting what he wanted--getting rid of Potter, and...  
  
And what if he got blamed for Harry's sudden sickness? That thought made him pause. Well...he'd just go to the Headmaster and explain himself before any accusations could be made. There. He'd figured it all out. He was a genius.  
  
A smirk flitted across his face. He was outside the Hospital Wing in no time. Madame Pomfrey was shocked to see Harry--she had heard the rumors like everyone else, but hearing about something and actually seeing it were two entirely different things. "What's wrong with the child?" she asked, confining Harry to a small cot and flitting around, looking for potions and her wand, which she seemed to have misplaced. She waited for Draco to answer, but when she turned around, he was gone.  
  
Draco was, it just so happened, making his way toward the Headmaster's office. He'd actually been in once or twice, due to a mishap in Transfiguration and an inquiry concerning his father--he had stoically denied all accusations, of course. Now would be no different. He would march up there, face the old man, and get his story out.  
  
HE, in fact, was the victim here. He had been imposed upon by Potter, and it was really all Granger and Weasley's fault. If they had been more responsible...  
  
He didn't know the password.  
  
He stood before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entryway, and tried to think of what to do next. Maybe if he knocked...  
  
"MALFOY?!"  
  
That annoying voice cut through his pondering, but he refused to turn and look at who he KNEW would be there. (He felt it gave him a sense of mystery...and that was something Weasley was severely lacking in.)  
  
Ron, for his part, stared at Malfoy, his mouth agape. His body tensed up, and even when Hermione laid a calming hand on his arm, he couldn't seem to organize the words he wanted to say.  
  
And that was how Professor McGonagall found them when she rounded the corner exactly two seconds later. 


End file.
